


the best of you

by gossamernotes



Category: Captain America (Comics), Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hurt!Steve, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, PTSD, Protective!Bucky, lots of swearing, mentions of torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-13
Updated: 2014-09-10
Packaged: 2018-02-08 18:33:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1951752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gossamernotes/pseuds/gossamernotes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky is on a mission when he gets the call. </p><p>They tell him that Steve has been compromised. </p><p>[The story wherein Hydra captures Steve to create a new weapon. Bucky, alongside the rest of the Avengers, come together and work through the fallout.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. born under a bad sign

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, so this is a birthday gift to you all because it is MY birthday!  
> To be honest, I am worried about this story. I tried a different tone out, and it is darker than my other stories, so please leave a comment to let me know who the characters feel and the plot reads!  
> Also, let me know how the ending feels. This is the first of a two-part story, so there is more! I just want to make sure nothing feels rushed!

Bucky has been sitting on a rooftop for nearly two hours when his phone vibrates in his pocket. 

And, as he is on an op in the backwoods of Illinois with Clint trying to get a hit on a sleeper A.I.M. agent, he lets the call to go his voicemail because -- _really_ \-- who the hell would be calling him on his S.H.I.E.L.D. phone when everyone who has that number knows he's in the field?

Clint and Bucky have been on this op for nearly a month now, and while Bucky is sick of flat plains and cornstalks, he lets his finger slide slowly against the trigger of his rifle because it’s _almost_ over. The sneaky bastard they’d been trailing across the state had left one too many crumbs on his trail to keep himself clean, and Clint was already inside the office building across the street with knives in his boots and arrows strapped to his back. 

After finding the best line of sight into the floor where their target was located, Bucky had then scaled the building and tucked himself onto the rooftop with practiced ease. And then he waited with shallow breaths, tracking the agent through the lens of his scope and noting Clint’s quiet grunts over the radio whenever a guard was taken out.

His phone goes off again exactly three minutes later, and Bucky freezes. Two rings in that time means that he needs to answer because some sort of shit has hit the fan back at base. Sliding a hand into his pocket to grab his phone, Bucky brings it to his ear.

“What the _hell_ do you want, Natasha, because I’m sort of busy right now.”

He can hear her measured breaths over the phone. 

“We need you and Barton to come in.”

Bucky swears lowly, careful not to knock over his gun, and tightens his grip on the phone. “Just give us a bit -- an hour tops. We got the agent cornered, and Barton is ready to engage. He stills owes the asshole an arrow for scratching Lola back in Chicago.”

He expects Natasha to give them the time. She has called before when he’s been on the field, and even when the most deluded mad scientists are taking a swing at leveling Queens, Bucky has always been able to buy himself an extra hour or so more to finish his mission before coming in. 

This time is different. 

“Barnes, we cannot give you that extension. You two need to get a mile south to Mascoutah; They’ve got an airstrip waiting with a jet.”

Bucky stiffens because this is a new and completely unwelcome change of plans. He opens his mouth, ready to ask what in the hell could be so important that it requires the immediate extraction of both Clint and him, but then Natasha is speaking again.

“I tapped into Clint’s comm channel before contacting you and relayed the message. He said he’d meet you at the rendezvous point as planned. I’m sorry, James, but your agent is going to have to wait.”

And then Bucky’s mouth goes dry because not only did Natasha just apologize to him, but she also called him by his first name -- and while Natasha and he had gotten off on a bad start two years ago when he went to Steve for help, the two of them were now friends. 

His friends call him Bucky. 

In the field, he was Barnes.

He is only ever James when _something_ is really, really wrong. 

Bucky swallows thickly, feeling as if cotton is caught in his throat, and tries to work out words from his lips because there is a sick pit in his stomach threatening to swallow him whole. That's because Bucky _knows_ what Natasha is going to say next -- and just maybe -- he can lessen the blow of her words if he beats her to them. 

He doesn’t.

When she speaks again, her voice wavers, and Bucky’s heart sinks. 

“Captain Rogers has been compromised.”

_______

When Bucky arrives at Stark Tower, his knuckles are white. 

And once he reaches the conference room with Clint scrambling in tow, his jaw clenches because if Fury and Phil are being called in for this too, then Steve must have done some really _dumb_ shit. 

The room is quiet, charged with a tension that Bucky’s not felt since Natasha and he got six months ago during a mission in Kiev. But Bucky isn’t inclined to think about that fight right now because he’s walking towards the table, eyes focusing on several images hovering above the table as Tony flicks through them. 

“Agent Barnes.”

Bucky stares at the maps in front of him. 

“Agent Barnes, _please_ ,” the voices cuts sharply, and Bucky turns his head towards Phil.

Phil doesn’t flinch under his stare. “Barnes, take a seat. We need to brief everyone on the situation.

So Bucky sits in the seat beside him and curls his body tight as a piano wire. He can feel Sam’s eyes on him from across the table, but he refuses to move his stare from the hard glass of the table with gritted teeth. 

Fury speaks first. 

“Captain Rogers was compromised on his diplomatic mission in Geneva while escorting a handful of US biomedical engineers who were meeting at the UN to discuss a virus they have managed to reverse engineer. His job was to attend the panel with them and give face for the home front. We are all here now because the parameters changed.”

Phil clears his throat before bringing up a new set of images for everyone. Bucky leans forward, analyzing the bombed-out building in the pictures. There are a few sight points on the building along with plenty of exits, and with a small jolt, Bucky realizes that the building is like one he’s been to before. 

A mission. Three Belgium physicists. UN. Secret location. Thirty-six hours. 

Bucky sucks in a breath. “That’s a-”

“Hydra base, yes, we are aware,” Phil interrupts, and it’s a miracle that Bucky even manages to hear the words over the blood pulsing through his body. It takes him a moment to realize that Phil is still talking, flicking through images of rubble. 

“...targets were the scientists. They were surprised to see Steve. Base lost contact with him shortly after initial contact, but surviving video surveillance shows the scientists escaping under planted S.H.I.E.L.D. security while Steve engaged the Hydra agents. The UN officials meant to meet there today were found dead-”

“We’re not here for the UN members. We’re here for Rogers.”

Tony’s voice is hard, and Bucky is grateful that someone says what they’re all thinking. 

Phil is quiet, but Fury is not one for formalities. He doesn't mind stepping on toes to get to a point across. 

“Captain Rogers was captured by Hydra early this morning. Retrieval effort failed, and we have no damned leads about what location he is at now.”

There is nothing for a moment which Bucky finds fitting -- really -- because he can’t think, can’t breathe, and can’t speak because _Hydra_ has _Steve_. They’ve got Steve, _oh god_ , and while Bucky might not remember everything from his past, he does remember what Hydra can do to a person. 

Then the room breaks with noise, and Bucky nearly runs out because _this_? This is too much for him right now, but Natasha slides into the seat next to him and puts a hand on his shoulder, anchoring him to the shreds of sanity he’s still got rattling around in his screwy brain. 

She is speaking to Fury with her lips pressed thin. Tony, who had Bucky expected to be loudest of all, is still sitting his chair without a word. Bruce and Thor are questioning Phil, heated words spitting from their mouth which makes Bucky feel as surprised as Phil looks. Clint and Sam stay out of the chaos, opting to look through the images and evidence themselves, but the set furrow in their brows speaks for their own worry. 

There are sparks firing in Bucky’s body, urging him out of his seat to do _something_ , but he fights against them. Natasha’s hand is at his arm now -- his left one -- and he can barely feel her feather touches over his shirt. 

“...nothing we can do now until we have more information, Natasha.”

Pulling out of himself, Bucky finds that her clipped tone is directed towards Phil. 

“Then what do you expect us to do?”

“We expect you all to await orders. Give us twenty-four hours. We should have a location by then.”

“And if not?”

Everyone stares at Bucky, even Tony who hadn't moved until that point. He knows how unhinged he must look as he stares at his curled fist, clenching it in time with his racing pulse. Fury then stands and walks towards the tinted window spanning across the wall that outlooks the city skyline. 

He says nothing, and Bucky wants to scream to fill in the silence. His goddamn best friend is a prisoner of war right now, drugged and strapped to a table, and waiting for back-up that isn’t _coming_ because no one is doing _anything_. 

Nothing. That is what’s happening right now. And it makes Bucky’s skin crawl. 

“We will get Rogers back, Barnes. Trust in that.”

Bucky wants to -- he really does -- but as the meeting adjourns and he is finds himself herded from the room by Natasha at his side, Bucky knows that he can’t. 

The one thing Bucky has ever truly trusted in is Steve Rogers.

And he isn’t here right now.

_______

Natasha led Bucky straight to the gym from the meeting without bothering to change clothes, and as when he landed his first kick to the back of her leg, he wondered how restricting they must be for her to fight in.

But then she was on top of him, legs swung around his neck, and took him down to the mat with an unforgiving thud. 

It’s been hours since the meeting, and the thrum of adrenaline from their first spar is now starting to sputter out off his veins. His head hurts. Both knees are shaking. The cut above his eyebrow -- the one that Natasha left after clawing his face -- is no longer bleeding but stings like a bitch. 

No one has come looking for them, and Bucky figures it must be out of respect. Either that or Natasha put a lock on the gym through J.A.R.V.I.S. that would threaten pain of death upon anyone who tried to interrupt their spar. And so no one has come to disturb their haze-filled fights where they tear and punch and tackle and grapple at one another until they are left breathing heavily on the floor. 

Bucky just lays there, staring at the fluorescent lights hooked into the ceiling, and ignores when Natasha sits up gingerly -- and he has the decency to regret kneeing her so sharply in the stomach now, but their spars were more brutal today for a reason. 

For that, he’s grateful. And also guilty. Frustrated. Scared. 

There are really so many emotions flittering through Bucky’s gut now that he wants to puke, but he's too tired to move. That, he thinks, was Natasha’s real purpose in bringing him down to the gym. With too much going on in his head, the only way to relieve the stress mounting inside of him was to blow off steam outside with his fists. 

And he hates that this is his best -- his _only_ \-- coping mechanism when Steve isn’t around for him to talk to. Steve who is still missing, and at that thought, Bucky has to screw his eyes shut because he is tried but not tired enough to ignore the tears stinging at the back of his eyes. 

Natasha breathes next to him, and he does his best to follow the rise of her chest and fall with it when she exhales. It’s another trick he’s learned to use, but tonight, it feels half-assed. 

“How do you feel now?”

Her voice cuts through their breathing suddenly, but Bucky doesn’t start. Natasha is a gift to covert affairs with her silent approaches and charmed smiles, but they’ve never phased Bucky.

After all, he’s the one who taught her a lot of those tricks. But that was years ago when Bucky wasn’t really _Bucky_ and Natasha hadn’t been _Natasha_. Under the sharp glare of the Red Room, the two had never gotten to meet their true selves let alone each others'. 

But Bucky thinks he’s with the real Natasha now as she looks down at him with eyes that aren’t staring through him. She’s staring at him softly, and he has to look away to keep from embarrassing himself. 

“Better,” he answers after a moment, and she nods. It takes them nearly an hour to leave the gym as they sit in silence, listening to each others’ slow breaths as they go over what this day has brought them, and then they go their separate ways. Clint, no doubt, will be waiting for Natasha up in the nest he built in her apartment. 

Steve, Bucky knows, will not be waiting for him in their apartment. 

So he follows a routine, one that he started during his first couple weeks of rehabilitation after turning himself in. His therapists had insisted he make one to ground himself and familiarize himself with day-to-day tasks. 

He strips and showers, scrubbing at his longer hair with trimmed nails. He dries himself before tugging on a pair of Steve’s soft flannel pants that sling low on his hips. His room is across the hallway from Steve’s, and for a brief moment as he heads to bed, Bucky stops at his door with a hand on the doorway. 

Bucky continues after a moment, shaking away the thoughts of sleeping in Steve’s room for the night to keep the bed warm for his friend, because he needs to follow a routine. Right now, as he lays on his stiff mattress with hands to his side, Bucky knows that this routine is the only thing keeping him grounded. 

Because Natasha is with Clint and Steve is _fucking_ gone and Bucky is about two-inches from slipping into the Winter Soldier because purging himself of his worry would feel fantastic right about now. 

But he forces himself not to, and though he didn’t believe it could happen, he does fall asleep shortly after laying down despite the roiling in his gut. 

His dreams -- no, nightmares -- are as he expected. They are all about Steve. 

_______

It takes only fifteen hours for S.H.I.E.L.D. to get a drop location, and the Avengers assemble in record time. 

It takes another eight hours for the team to get to Stockholm, but once they land, Bucky is the second out of the jet behind Tony. 

They made a dirt-landing in a field about two miles from the secret base that Phil had briefed them about, and as Bucky stepped into the green grass of the valley they wound up in, his eyes are immediately drawn to the rolling hills around them. Under daylight, everything must have looked beautiful to the passing eye as trees sprung from the ground with steadied roots. The bloom of flowers this time of year must be impossibly colorful to even the most imaginative of eyes, but covered by night, Bucky can see this place for what’s underneath.

The hills are nothing more than outer shells for the hollowed-out bases held inside. Fingering the knife on his thigh holster, Bucky has to force his attention away from the scenery and focus on the mission strategy that Phil and Natasha had coordinated.

It would be a simple in-and-out job. Fire at anything that moves and apologize later, Phil had stressed to everyone. They hadn’t gotten a good estimate on how many agents were inside the catacomb bases, but it was enough to make Bruce volunteer his services as the Hulk despite Fury’s insistence that the good doctor stay behind. But Bruce and Steve had gotten close over the past year once Bucky began sitting in on meditative sessions with the doctor, and Steve had soon after told Bucky he was glad to count the older man as a friend of his. 

Judging by Bruce’s decision to get in on the action, Bucky sees that the feeling is mutual. 

Tony and Sam went on first for an aerial distraction before signaling Thor and the Hulk to rush the fortified entrance off to the south by the river. The rest of the team would infiltrate from there, splitting into different directions, until one of them could get a lock on Steve. 

The mission had been going as planned. The heavy artillery of Hydra’s scattered weaponry was focused on the Hulk as Thor took out tanks left and right. Agents who tumbled out of their bases with guns blazing were taken out as soon as they came with sharp dives and repulser blasts from above. And the resistance met by the team inside of the sprawling bases cleared as the fight waged on outside. 

But their time was limited because the fight outside wouldn’t last long until authorities moved-in, and Steve was still nowhere to be found. 

Bucky is heading down a hallway, sprayed with blood from a few sloppy kills, when the comm in his ear crackles. 

“Rogers is in base three. Rendezvous in ten. We go into together.”

At Clint’s voice, Bucky turns around and moves. The hallway is already clear -- the blood staining the metal floors makes it obvious what happened -- and he reaches the third base with minutes to spare. Natasha and Clint are waiting for him in a hallway littered with dead agents, and Bucky nods at the handiwork. 

“Let me guess. Natasha did most of the work?”

A small smile tips at Natasha’s lips while Clint rolls his eyes, mumbling something certainly unkind about Bucky under his breath, but the light air is smothered quickly once Bucky sees what's waiting in front of them. It is a large, reinforced steel door standing between them and Steve, and Bucky flexes his cybernetic arm. 

With a strained grunt, Bucky manages to pull the door open enough for the three to squeeze through, and he is the last to follow into the room. And, as he looks around the cramped room, Bucky finds himself frozen.

There, sitting in the middle of the room, is a chair that Bucky sees often in his own dreams. It’s tilted back, showing off the cold metal of the seat, and the angle also gives him a clear view of the apparatus behind the chair that’s buzzing with electricity. Bucky takes a step back, bile rising against his throat, because it isn’t the chair making him feel nauseous. 

It is the sight of Steve strapped to the chair, clearly unconscious which is never good because Steve is a _fucking_ super soldier, with his hair shaved and chest bared to show fresh cuts decorating his skin. 

There is a keening sound coming from inside the room, and after a moment, Bucky realizes that it is coming from his lips. He moves before he means to, rushing across the room until he’s next to Steve and is ripping those restraints off by hand. 

“Steve, _shit_. You with us, punk? _Steve_ ,” Bucky mutters as his hands hover over his friend. He doesn’t know what to do, but he knows he needs to do something, and then Natasha is next to him to pull him away from Steve. 

“Bucky, you have to calm down. Breathe,” she tells him firmly as Clint searches the room, looking for information or reports that might be hidden in the room. That might tell them what the hell was done to Steve in this goddamn room. 

There is nothing. 

That becomes clear when the lights of the room flicker, and Bucky tenses because he can feel the Winter Soldier banging against his mind like madman trying to escape persecution. Then there is a voice coming from the ceiling that makes makes Bucky snarl because _of course_ , Rumlow has got his fucking hands all over this kind of job. 

“Well, it seems like you all made it just in time for the show,” Rumlow croons from the speakers, and Bucky feels Natasha tense. 

“Not today, asshole. We’re just taking the party favor and leaving,” Clint snarks as he moves next to Steve. 

Rumlow laughs. “No, trust me. You really don’t want to take that one home with you now.”

“What do you mean,” Natasha asks, and she taps Bucky against the leg, and he knows that she wants him to get Steve ready to leave. They are going to have to drag him to the extraction point outside, and Bucky is the only one capable of hauling that kind of weight around so quickly. So he takes a step forward, but then Rumlow’s voice comes through. 

“What I mean is that, well, Steve and I had some fun times waiting for you all. Really, the grit of that kid’s teeth was impressive until I tried to knock them right out,” Rumlow laughs, and Bucky growls. “Oh, does the asset have feelings now? What a surprise. I take it that your friend over there has something to do about that,” Rumlow continues.

Bucky’s voice is hard when he responds. 

“I’m going to kill you.”

Rumlow laughs.

“No, you aren’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because you're going to be a bit too busy with your friend to even think about it,” Rumlow answers, and Bucky feels a sick shiver roll down his spine. Natasha must to because she’s turning towards Clint, but it’s too late. 

Steve’s awake, looking around the room with pointed eyes, and he lifts his head enough for Bucky to see the nasty incision right above his friend’s ear. And Bucky chokes because he _knows_ that scar because he’s got one himself years ago after he’d gone rogue on a mission in 1963. 

He'd been taken back to his handlers and wiped, no doubt, but they had left him with extra insurance to ensure his compliance. It left a scar like that on the side of his head, which is covered well by his hair, but Bucky can feel every inch of it burning into the side of his skull as he sees the same scar on Steve’s head. 

They’d put an implant in Bucky’s head that would remotely sent volts shooting through his brain, wiping and controlling him with the push of a button. And as Steve locks eyes with Clint, Bucky knows that those goddamn Hydra bastards have done the same thing to his friend. 

Clint barely ducks in enough time to keep Steve’s hand from slamming into his chest, but he’s not quick enough to roll out of the way once Steve stands and brings a foot crashing into Clint’s leg. He lets out a pained grunt, and Steve bends to finish the job when Natasha vaults over the chair. 

She gouges her fingers into the cuts on Steve’s chest to distract him, but he doesn’t flinch. He reaches for her waist, no doubt to crush her hips between his hands, and then Bucky is moving because he _can’t_ do this but the Winter Soldier in him _can_. 

So he comes behind Steve and cuts across his shoulders hard with his metal arm, watching him fold to the ground at the hard blow. There is enough of Bucky left to remember that the implant shorts out if overcharged, so he looks around the room. His eyes zero in on the wristlets on Natasha’s arm before he’s locking Steve’s struggling arms together with clenched teeth.

“Fucking tase the incision, Natasha. Fry it,” he grinds out as Steve tries to roll from his grip. Bucky holds firm until Natasha is able to knock off Steve’s implant -- and if he has to look away when Steve screams, no one says anything -- but then an explosion is rocking through the base like the entire things about to collapse. 

And, really, all of this is too much reversed deja vu for Bucky because this is just like Austria but it’s not because there is no Red Skull or 107th or Captain America. But it is a collapsing base and a god-forsaken chair and it’s similar enough to make Bucky’s head throb. 

He’s got other things to worry about though, and Natasha reminds him of that as she yells at him to grab Steve. So he does, wrapping his arms around the side of Steve’s waist, and Clint limps to the other side to balance them out. Natasha leads the way, guns out and ready whenever an agent pops into the hallways they’re rushing through, and Bucky doesn’t even have time to worry. 

With the weight of his best friend leaning on him, Bucky keeps himself from stumbling as they make it outside to see the colors of the valley around him come to life with the sun as it rises. 

But one look at Steve’s waxy face and gripped body makes Bucky keep at attention while they hurry onto the jet. They’re in the air within seconds, waiting for Sam and Tony to fly in with Thor and Bruce later. Once the whole team is back together -- looking far worse for wear despite their victory -- and Bucky excuses himself from the room. 

He heads to the cargo hold underneath the plane where Steve is being held, arms and legs bound for his safety as much as everyone elses'. There is nothing on his face besides a grimace, and Bucky sits next to Steve on the floor. 

It’s hard, Bucky finds, to sit there and not be able to anything useful. 

Steve is back. He is laying right next to Bucky, and that should make Bucky want to do something -- anything -- to help Steve. 

But then he thinks back to the base and the look in Steve’s eye when he woke up because there had been nothing there: no _light_ , no _recognition_ , no _Steve_. 

It is a look that the Winter Soldier wore often, and it is one that Bucky -- not even in his worst nightmares -- had envisioned on Steve. Because Bucky’s private hell of being unmade and turned into an assassin had left enough scars on him to last several lifetimes. There were horrors that Bucky had never known of that came with remembering his time as that person. 

It’s not been that long for Steve, Bucky thinks, as he eyes the incision threading above Steve’s ear. The implant can be removed -- Bucky will _rip it out_ himself if he has too -- and things will get back to normal. They have to. 

For now, though, Bucky just sits next to Steve on the floor of the cargo hold with a hand laid over his friend’s chest to feel his heartbeat against his fingers. 

With just the two of them there alone, Bucky then lets himself cry. 

_______

“You can’t go in there yet.”

Bucky sits in a hard plastic chair, staring through the window that looks into Steve’s cell that’s too bright and too small for his liking.

He shifts, leaning forward until his elbows are propped up against his knees. “Then I will wait until I can.”

Tony shrugs and takes a seat further across the room. They don’t say much in the following minutes and instead look through the window at Steve whose awake and alert, but he’s not quite there. None of his confident charm and wit is peeking out from beneath a smile or a crook of his eye.

There is nothing there staring back except a soldier with orders, and with a chill, Bucky remembers that he used to look that way too. 

“You know, Rogers and I? We didn’t hit it off at first. Maybe we did in a literal sense: He threatened to beat the shit out of me if that counts.”

Bucky turns his head. “He’s done that to lots of people. Don’t take it personally.”

“We took some digs at each other the next day before the fiasco in Manhattan. You were briefed on that, right? The aliens and nuke that nearly leveled this city. Yeah, we couldn’t get our heads on right. Tensions were high, and that idiot was _practically_ puking patriotism down the halls of the helicarrier. It rubbed me the wrong way-”

“Why are you telling me this?” 

Bucky has heard the story before about the squabble on the the helicarrier that ended with Phil dead -- or mostly, at least -- and pushed Loki’s plot one step closer to success. He’s even seen the security footage during training at S.H.I.E.L.D. that he’d taken before becoming a field agent, and the shitshow that had ensued was spectacular. 

He knows what Steve and Tony had spat to each other that day, squared off chest-to-chest with narrowed eyes and pinched shoulders. Their bodies had been screaming to swing a fist or throw an elbow, but then the entire ship blew right under their noses, and recovery became their biggest priority as each team member was separated by the blast. 

And Tony knows that Bucky’s seen the footage -- he’d needed to get an override for J.A.R.V.I.S. to see the footage outside of the training headquarters -- so Bucky asks the question with no more emotions than he’s shown over the past week since Steve’s been back. 

He’s too burnt out to force a bite through his tone. 

Tony, for all his eccentric tweaks, seems to see Bucky’s exhaustion and doesn’t start rambling about having his story interrupted or calling Bucky some overused nickname pulled from the dredges of pop culture for the hell of it. Instead, he stands and walks slowly towards the window separating the two from their team’s leader. 

“I am telling you this to make you feel better.”

“I don’t need you to do that-”

“Yes, I do. Really,” Tony breaks in. “And if you won’t take it for yourself, then I am doing it for me. Because this whole thing is fucked, and I know that I cannot be the only one so screwed up by this,” he continues as he presses a hand at the glass. 

Bucky keeps quiet because, really, what is he supposed to say to that? He’s not the one on the team who pulls everyone together and makes their lives slot into place. That is Steve’s job, but Steve is still reeling from Hydra and captivity and implants and surgery. 

Jesus, it has been a week since they’d gotten him back to base. The medical staff had rushed Steve into a waiting operating room, ready to remove the implant that Hydra had stuffed into his head, and Bucky remembers waiting outside the door for hours still dressed in his kevlar and guns. 

The doctors had come out hours later -- and, with a twinge, Bucky had noticed the blood stains that dotted their scrubs -- and told him that the operation had gone well. The damage was minimal considering the implant’s hasty insertion, and no scar tissue was found that might have left permanent memory loss. 

Physically, Steve would heal within the next day or so with a pink scar and headache. But what the doctors had left unsaid concerned Bucky the most because he knows what the fallout is of torture. He’s seen the muted stare of such experimentation and torture in his own eyes when he’s having a bad day, curled in bottom of his closet, and stares into his reflection blurred on his left arm. 

Steve is different from Bucky: always has been and always will. Bucky had been rougher around the edges with crooked grins and little white lies that dulled the polished edge of his good looks. Steve, growing up, had been a scrappy kid with honest intentions that he’d never broken under the strain of war or his alter ego as Captain America because that strain was nothing compared to his Brooklyn alley fights. Bucky, though, had cracked in the war after seeing his bunkmate get his brains blown out of his head during their first mission out of the trenches. 

It had hardened him, and for that, Bucky is now grateful. It is what kept part of him fighting under all of his programming for nearly seventy years. Steve had hardened after reaching the front lines, yes, but his optimistic and kind-hearted spirit always found a way to break through to the surface.

Staring at Steve now, Bucky is scared that whatever Hydra did was enough to finally crack Steve. And, if it is, Bucky doesn’t know what he’ll do. 

Tony slowly moves his eyes from Steve back to Bucky, and his lips press together for just a moment before speaking. 

“Steve is a better man than all of us. That is why I couldn’t stand him that day because I could see everything I hated about myself so clearly when I stood next to him. I hated that, but now? Right now, it’s what’s going to bring Steve back.”

Bucky grinds his teeth together because Tony is _right_. 

Steve has always been the better man, taking the higher road that fights for justice and equality. Bucky remembers once telling Steve that he only wanted to fight because he had something to prove, and after all this time, Bucky realizes that he was right that night. 

Steve has got something to prove every time he suits up and straps his shield to the back of his uniform. It’s in the way he watches a room with lit eyes while they’re making visits to children’s hospitals, and without a word, he’ll find himself next to a kid and lifting them onto his shoulders. He shows it when he stands up for his team against the media who meddle in their privacy and ask questions that would make any other man scowl.

Steve, Bucky realizes, fights to prove that the underdog can always have a leg in their race against other bigger, stronger bullies if they have the will to keep on running. 

It’s something that makes Steve the kind of man that millions of people adore and respect -- Bucky and the rest of the team included. 

He’s always been that good guy at heart, and as Tony turns to leave the room, Bucky lets out a long breath that’s been stuck in his chest for days now. 

Bucky is different from Steve, for more reasons that he cares to count, but -- right now -- that’s find because that difference is what will keep Steve from losing his _goddamn_ mind like Bucky did. It is going to just take some time for Steve to resurface.

Clearing his throat, Bucky leans back into his seat. “Tony,” he calls out.

The other man stops at the door after a moment.

“Hmm?”

“Thank you for whatever that was.”

Bucky swears that he can see Tony grinning. “Anytime.”

_______

Thor is a _surprisingly_ good cook, and once Bucky is allowed to start visiting Steve in his cell, he makes sure to give Bucky food to bring to their friend with a heavy pat on the back and a smile bright enough to make the sun envious. 

Steve -- whose slowly stumbling through the fog of his time at Hydra after being wiped -- enjoys the food, and with a half-hearted shrug, Bucky normally offers up his meal to Steve as well. 

It becomes a routine that Bucky prefers over his old ones because this routine allows him to see Steve and help out with his friend’s recovery. It’s been a month since Tony had parted some words with Bucky to help him keep faith, and as they’d hoped, Steve’s once-teased spirit is what keeps his bad days falling to the wayside in favor of better days with pointed laughter and games of solitaire. 

They’ve both been taken off active duty -- something which Bucky finds fitting because he’d probably shot someone in the _ass_ on accident given how distracted he is these days with Steve’s progress -- but the doctors are releasing Steve later this week with orders of weekly therapy and light duty around the Tower. 

Steve had lit up when he heard the news, and Bucky had snorted because his friend must have been feeling back to his old self if he was relived at the prospect of work. Either that or Steve really was just as bored as Bucky believed him to be, but Steve hadn’t admitted to anything. 

Today, sitting across from each other on the tiled floor of the cell, Bucky and Steve eat their food and talk about their past. Steve’s memory wipe had hardly worked as long as Bucky’s, and for that, Bucky was fucking grateful. The voltage hadn’t been right, or maybe but it was because the scar tissue never got around to rerouting synapses, but either way, Bucky had never felt so glad to hear Steve reminisce about their glory days of Brooklyn as he had this week. 

“...nicked that baseball out of Jim’s bag and ran for it, Buck! I thought he was going to skin you at school the next day,” Steve laughs, and Bucky just smiles. 

“That idiot should’ve never messed with you, so really, he had it coming. Besides, he was all talk anyway. Mrs. Green’s blind terrier had a worse bite that that kid did.”

The two laugh and talk, ignoring the harsh lights and bugged security cameras that are watching their every move. No one’s afraid that Steve’s going to hurt anybody anymore -- that was made clear when the whole team came for a visit and Tony goaded Steve hard to pull a reaction with no luck -- but there was the lingering fear that Steve would try to hurt himself. 

Bucky had raged at the thought, fueled by a gnawing worry in his gut, but said nothing when agents guarded Steve’s door or watched his friend as he slept at night. Steve never said anything about the surveillance, but he wouldn’t. He had never been one to complain about that kind of stuff. 

It’s later that night after Bucky and Steve have eaten and recalled their entire grade school lives that Steve yawns, and that makes Bucky’s eyes narrow.

“Tired?”

Steve shrugs, looking away from Bucky.

“Yeah, I’ve not been sleeping well the past few days.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Steve says nothing for long enough that it makes Bucky regret even pushing the subject, but then there is a voice breaking through his thoughts. 

“It’s just been some nightmares; the usual.”

Bucky nods, better aware than most of how nightmares can linger like vivid movies reeling through a person’s head. Steve doesn’t talk much about his nightmares to Bucky -- more than likely afraid he’ll trigger something deep-seated in his mind -- so Bucky doesn’t ask if Steve wants to tell him about them. 

He just slides closer to Steve and rests a hand on his friend’s shin -- trying not to remember the look in Steve’s eye from that night when he'd fractured Clint’s leg and had _murder_ in his eyes -- with a small smile. 

“You’ll get some better sleep once you’re back in your own bed,” Bucky promises, lightening the mood with a joke, and Steve’s smile lets him know that he’s grateful. 

Steve reaches up and places his hand on top of Bucky’s, thumb stroking over the flesh-and-blood hand underneath his own. 

“I might, but that means you’ve got to watch your snoring, Buck.”

Bucky snorts, rapping his hand lightly against Steve’s leg. “I don’t snore. Shut up.”

“You’d be surprised. It’s endearing, really, how you twist on your side and drool on your pillow. It’s like when we were-”

“I do not do that shit, Steve. What the _hell_ are you talking about? You want to play this game? I can play too,” Bucky jokes, giving Steve a look that promises retribution. Steve keeps quiet with a look in his eyes that miles away from the room he’s in, and Bucky stiffens. He doesn’t want to scare Steve, but he doesn’t want his friend to be stuck in his head for too long. But then Steve is back with a watery smile that makes Bucky’s chest expand. 

Steve grips Bucky’s hand tight, and that hold shows just how softly Steve’s hand is shaking.

“God, I’ve _missed_ this, Bucky.”

Words work through Bucky’s voice, and he has to swallow once before he can say anything. 

“I know. I’ve missed it too,” Bucky mutters, and then Steve is pulling Bucky close and wrapping his arm around him into a loose hug. It’s the first time that Bucky has been this close to his friend since he’d left for his mission with Clint months ago with a shoulder-slung hug and a _“take care of yourself.”_

He slides his neck into the crook of Steve’s shoulder and breathes in deep. 

This, Bucky knows, is progress. Steve will recover and get back on the field soon enough with his shield strapped to his back and a grudge against Hydra that can only spell their end. 

Bucky knows that, but Steve is still trembling under him -- so for now -- Bucky will watch after Steve. He will take his hand and guide him through the fallout as his good days go and bad days stay. Bucky owes him nothing less after all they’ve been through -- after all they’ve done for each other. 

This closeness is just one step forward a winding road to recovery. 

So, as he closes his eyes and enjoys the feeling of Steve’s warm and real body in his arms, Bucky lets out a long breath because there have been _so many_ things in his life that Bucky has known he could never handle or do.

But for Steve?

Bucky thinks he could _do_ just about anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> follow and fangirl with me on [tumblr](http://brooklynboystosupersoldiers.tumblr.com) because I love you all.


	2. i'll take you home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, so here is the second installment. I had to break this story into three, so there is one part left!
> 
> Let me know how this all goes. I am still nervous this story, so let me know how the characters feel and the plot!

When Bucky wakes up in the middle of the night from Steve screaming across the hall, he doesn’t push himself out of bed and charge over wake his friend up. 

It had been Steve’s first day back in his own bed when a nightmare had left him breathless against his torn throat. Bucky had woken up, hand gripping the knife under his pillow, before he ran into Steve’s room with fear clutching at his chest. He had put a hand on Steve to wake him up, and before he could move, Bucky had found himself pinned to the wall with Steve’s hand on his throat. It was an odd reversal of roles, Bucky had thought as he struggled for air, and Steve eventually slumped to the side with a heaving chest. It was the first and last time that Bucky tried to wake Steve from his nightmares.

Staring at the shadowed ceiling of his bedroom, Bucky closes his eyes against the grating calls that make him want to get up. He locks his body in place to keep from swinging his legs over the side of the bed because Bucky knows just how much his presence isn’t going to help Steve. The nightmares that Steve has now aren’t of Hydra -- if they were, he would have been moving the _minute_ he’d been jolted awake -- and they haven’t been since he was brought back to Stark Towers. 

Steve told Bucky as much. His dreams were of ice and cold and darkness, and though he promised Bucky that he hadn’t been shoved into cryofreeze during his time with Hydra, the taut pull of his jaw gave away his poorly concealed lie. All Bucky had to do was look over the medical report filed after Steve had been brought back to base to learn that Steve’s broad body was shoved into a cryotube and left to freeze at some point. 

Bucky tries not to think about the anger that floods his brain at the thought. It doesn’t do Steve any good, and though it might make him feel better, that’s not what’s important right now. 

Steve’s cries come to a sudden halt, and despite Bucky’s keen ears, he can’t hear his friend now through the thick walls separating their rooms. Finally relaxing his body, Bucky gets out of his bed and keeps his eyes alert as he walks out of his room, careful to make enough noise to let Steve know he’s awake. 

When he comes to a stop in front of Steve’s door, he lets out a long breath before pulling a hand up to knock against the wood. He gets no response, but Bucky can hear the pants of breath coming from the room inside and lets himself in like he usually does. 

Through the dark of the unlit room, Bucky can make out Steve’s form huddled against the headboard of the bed. His blankets are crumpled on the floor, and Bucky can see the tremble in Steve’s hand as he raises them to rake through his hair that’s no longer buzzed to the scalp. 

Bucky takes a few careful steps into the room, watching Steve as always to make sure he doesn’t try and launch himself at Bucky like he has on several occasions, and Steve finally looks at him once he reaches the foot of the bed.

Steve looks away from Bucky. “Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you up again.”

Bucky shrugs because, really, that is the least of his worries. He sits down on the edge of the bed, feeling the soft weight of the give way underneath him, and braces himself back against his arms. 

“It’s fine. This isn’t anything that you’ve not done for me,” Bucky says after a moment, and it’s true. 

Bucky’s nightmares had been unpredictable and violent when he had first come to Steve nearly three months after D.C. happened. He had lashed out when Steve had tried to wake him up -- something that Bucky now understands -- and almost had put his friend through a wall with his left arm after Steve had grabbed it out of desperation when Bucky just wouldn’t wake up one night. Steve had eventually given up sleeping in his own room, and to Bucky’s chagrin, had thrown some couch cushions on the floor across from the bed Bucky used and slept. 

It was something the two of them used to do back in Brooklyn after Steve’s mother had died. And it didn’t surprise him then. It’s a stupid enough of a thing for them to have _actually_ done. 

Still sitting up in his bed, Steve shakes his head at Bucky’s words. “Still doesn’t mean I don’t feel bad about it.”

“Steve, you feel bad for doing just about anything these days. What’s next? You going to start saying sorry for breathing,” Bucky jokes before coming a sharp stop because, _yes_ , Steve is at a place right now where he might be shaky enough to be sorry for still breathing. Bucky knows he hit that point during his recovery, but Steve? Bucky knows he couldn't handle the thought if Steve ever said it aloud. 

But Steve just laughs, and that makes Bucky’s chest loosen. With a moment’s hesitation, Steve eventually slips further onto the mattress -- just so his feet barely brushes against Bucky’s thigh at the bottom -- and covers his eyes with his forearm.

“I think I just need to get some sleep. It shouldn’t be bad now,” Steve admits after a breath, and Bucky again can hear the hollow words of Steve’s lie. The nightmares usually stay for a night, even if they disappear the next day for weeks, but for tonight, things will stay the same.

Bucky just sits there, ignoring the hair brushing against his face because it’s tangled across his cheek from sleep, before standing up. He knows this is not what he usually does before leaving; He normally waves Steve goodnight before sitting in the hallway outside of the room for the night just in case things do go from bad to worse. 

Tonight, however, Bucky finds he has had enough of this. 

When he comes back into Steve’s room a few minutes later with some couch cushions tucked underneath his arms while his pillow and blanket drag against the floor in his hands, he ignores Steve’s sputtered protests as he puts up a little makeshift bed in the corner of the room. 

“...really. I’ll be fine, I promise. Buck, you don’t got to do this,” Steve says, and Bucky just curls into his bed before bringing the covers up to his shoulder. 

He closes his eyes. “Shut up, Steve, and go to sleep.”

Neither of them fall asleep so soon as Bucky never intended to sleep in the first place and Steve was stubborn enough to try. But eventually Bucky hears Steve’s breaths even out as he falls back into a sleep that’s blessedly restful. 

Bucky doesn’t even remember falling asleep, but when he wakes up next, it’s not because of Steve’s screams or an arm squeezing around his neck. 

It’s because the morning sun is shining through the windows of Steve’s bedroom, and from down the hall, he can hear the sizzling crackles of bacon on a skillet as his friends makes breakfast as if last night hadn’t really happened. 

Leaning against his pillow before rolling over, Bucky pulls himself to his feet and cracks his neck because, wow, that bed was not as comfortable as he had hoped for. He walks towards the door as the rumbling in his stomach finally fires alongside his brain and tells him to get food right now, but he stops short. Bucky looks over his shoulder as the bed tucked into the corner of the room and smiles, feet finally leading him towards Steve and what’s most definitely eggs and bacon. 

He doesn’t mind sleeping on that damned thing for a few more nights. 

_______

The rest of the team, for all their care and skewed reasoning, struggles to reimagine Steve after the hell he has gone through. 

Bucky knows they don’t mean to act as such. He really does. 

But their help doesn’t do anything more than hurt, and that becomes obvious during Tony’s self-proclaimed movie night during the middle of the week. 

It was a _stupid_ tradition. Bucky had never bothered with it when he first came to the Tower, too busy -- or too unwilling -- to leave the safety of his room to go with Steve to the living room where buttered popcorn battles flared up between Thor and Clint. The movies were too flashy; more bang than brass because, according to Tony, explosions were cool and guys who never looked at them were cooler. He had never gotten the reference and still hadn’t even after he started going to the stupid things on Steve’s insistence.

Clint and Thor sit across from each other, popcorn primed and ready for war as they stared each other down. From the other couch, Natasha is on her knees next to Bruce and talked in low tones, but Bucky could see the strained look in her eye whenever she looked at Clint and his microwave-ready arsenal. Tony, as always on these nights, is giving a grand commentary about the movie -- a film about some ice princess that Bucky thinks is absolutely ridiculous but Steve has always liked animation -- and hums along to the songs in a broken tune that should get him arrested. 

Steve sits next to Bucky, pushed into the couch as if his hulking frame could slip under the cushion. He’s been like this around the others since returning. There’s never a smile on his face, really, but it’s always close when he runs into one of the team members in the Tower. This, Bucky knows, is why Steve doesn’t leave the apartment much these days, but it is good for him when he does.

He’s been taken to the range by Clint. Natasha has convinced Steve to go a few rounds in the gym after dinner more than once. Bucky knows that Bruce and Steve have wound up on the roof every other night when the air is clear and crisp against their skin. Hell, even Tony has let Steve tinker around in his labs without being no more of a usual brat than usual. 

But sitting around in the living room, all cooped together for the first time since Steve was in his cell and hadn’t even known who they were, Bucky knows that this might be too much for Steve. 

He hates that he’s proven right as the movie comes to an end when one of the characters is literally frozen trying to save the world, and then Steve is getting off the couch in one fluid move. The rest of the team turns their head towards Steve, and in the background, JARVIS pauses the movie either out of respect or protocol. 

Bucky sees Steve’s wide eyes and pushes himself to his feet, signaling Natasha with his hand to get everybody the hell out of the room. He can see her moving through the corner of his eye as she pushes everyone out of the door -- and amazingly -- they all let themselves be herded away. 

Steve barely notices. He is still staring at the lit TV with his eyes roaming over the colorful picture that shows a young boy -- no older than sixteen -- encased in ice with his eyes as wide as Steve’s are now. 

Bucky swears. 

“Steve?”

He doesn’t move. 

“ _Steve!_ ”

It’s as if something has hit Steve with the way he stumbles backward, and Bucky tenses despite himself because there is about a twenty percent chance that his friend is going to swing. 

He doesn’t. Instead, he stares at Bucky -- not through but at -- and looks around the room.

“Bucky? W-What happened,” he breathes, “and where is everyone? Something happen?”

He nods, and in his gut, Bucky tries to ignore the familiar pit that grows there. It’s becoming a frequent visitor these days when he’s walking a tightrope around Steve, but it’s always worse when Steve gets like this. 

When he doesn’t even remember what happened. 

The therapists had told him this would happen. Steve’s implant hadn’t been left in long, but it had done enough -- and Bucky can practically see Steve trashing on the chair, choking against a gag as the electricity rewired his _fucking_ brain -- to leave some short-term damage. Temporary, they promised, but still very much real. It first came up after Bucky had been allowed to visit Steve in his cell. They’d spent nearly a whole day together when Bucky had to leave to grab them some food, but then he had returned with take-out in hand. Steve had turned, and in seeing Bucky, let his jaw go wide. According to Steve, it was the first time he’d seen Bucky in months. It was then that Bucky had realized that short-term damage was code for short-term memory loss, and Bucky had left the room then no sooner than he had entered it.

Bucky might not be able to recall all of his past as he bends himself in half, fingers tugging at his hair, and struggles to remember what his mother’s favorite color was. Yellow, Steve tells him later, but only after he asks. But Steve is in someways worse. Right now, there are times that he can’t be pressed to remember what he ate for breakfast or where he left his sketchbook. Bucky does his best to remember for him.

Bucky rolls his shoulders, and once Steve is calm enough to stop sputtering, he speaks. “We were watching a movie. You had an episode, alright? You know where you are?”

Steve nods, but Bucky can tell his thoughts are miles away. He’s making a point not to stare at the TV -- and Bucky makes a note to throw that DVD off the top of the tower later tonight when no one is watching -- and then folds himself back onto the couch with boneless ease. 

That surprise Bucky because, normally, Steve heads back to his room after something like this. It’s what he does, but this is something new. So Bucky keeps on his feet until Steve says something. 

“You can go back and get everyone.”

Bucky starts. “Steve, you don’t have to-”

“Yes, I do.” Steve is staring at Bucky with a look in his eyes that normally reserved for when he’s in battle. It’s nothing but force of will and stubborn determination, and Bucky wants to stand at attention underneath it. “If you run away from something once, you’ll never quit. That’s something I said to Peggy once. So I need to do this, Buck. I’m fine,” he continues, and Bucky knows that he’s not going to get a word in edgewise. 

He takes a step back, then two, and then he is standing in front of the door that everyone had left through earlier. Bucky doesn’t even open the door because he knows better; They’re all standing behind the damned thing with ears pressed against it. 

“Coast is clear, assholes,” Bucky bites before letting his left arm pounded once against the door for good measure. He smiles when a whine -- Tony’s, no doubt -- comes filtering through because his ear definitely just got whacked against that wood. 

Steve is still sitting when they all take their normal places, but everyone is a little wearier and counting their breaths. Not because they are scared, no, but because they are finally catching on to what Steve’s life is like right now. 

He’s not quite the same person he was when this whole night started, grinning cautiously as Tony swore up and down that Steve would love Star Trek more than he loved hard-candied caramels, and they have seen so for themselves tonight. 

The movie is still paused, and the picture on it makes Bucky’s skin prickle. But then Steve is smiling -- a real, honest-to-god thing that makes the itch go away -- and the rest of the team must see it too. 

Crossing his arms, Steve kicks his feet onto the coffee table in front of him which makes Tony squawk. “You guys ready to start again?”

And, as the movie begins playing under newly dimmed lights, Bucky thinks that Steve was talking about more than just the film.

_______

History rarely records the real story. Sometimes, it really _pisses_ Bucky off. 

Even Bucky remembers the shitshow that went down after seeing old releases of Captain America -- after the USO shows were canceled and Hydra was sent running for hills from the combined fury of the Howling Commandos and Captain America himself. He’d spat all night, waving the comic around furiously, and Steve had gone pink in his attempts to keep a straight face. Because Bucky was not a little kid in tights -- that was all Steve’s thing -- and he did not appreciate the world thinking of him as such.

Steve, along with Dum-Dum and Gabe and Morita and everyone else on base, eventually had to laugh when Bucky wound up sending a letter to the presses that printed the stupid comic to give them a piece of his mind. The next issue found Bucky getting his ass handed to him by a Nazi before Captain America stepped into save the day. But they had taken notice. They had ran the letter in the back with all the other fan submissions.

Another thing that history doesn’t get quite right is his relationship with Steve. Best friends? _Fuck_ , they went way beyond that. Even brothers didn’t quite cover the scope of their lifetime spent watching over one another. 

In fact, people tend to forget -- Steve included -- but it is Bucky’s protective streak that kept Steve alive during the colder winters when their gloves needed patching and the heat blew cold air instead. He’d given the shirt off his back and the food from his plate to Steve more times than he can counts, or likely remember, because it was just a thing that Bucky did. 

It wasn’t until Captain America came waltzing past the Austrian lines with a tin-toy shield and a leather jacket stretched over his shoulder that Steve became the protective one. 

He protected the country. He protected his troops. He protected Bucky. 

But he never stopped to protect _himself_. 

Bucky took that job seriously, and as he watches Steve spar with a couple of new, not-really-but-actually SHIELD agents, his old protective streak flares to life when his friend catches a sharp kick to the head. 

He stands, already heading over to the mat, when he catches the conversation between Steve and the agent who had knocked him over the head. 

“...the gap, but watch your stance. You bend at the knees to keep your center, alright? If you sway your back, I’m just going to knock you over,” Steve says as he brings a hand lightly to the cut on his head. 

Bucky watches this and flinches because the cut is too close to the scar over his friend’s ear.

The agent -- fresh out of college and all sinewy muscle that’s never been trained -- nods eagerly, and Bucky’s feet have just stepped on the mat when the kid starts sputtering in German.

Steve stops. Bucky _moves_. 

It had been one of Steve’s triggers. Just the accent alone could set him off, and it had during those days when Maria and Natasha worked to deprogram the few triggers that Hydra had set, but hearing certain words could make him uncontrollable. Seeing the black eye on Natasha’s face had shown as much before Steve could be sedated after one particularly bad day. 

Bucky is between Steve and the agent in seconds, and the kid behind him finally switches to English.

“Sorry! I get nervous. It’s my first language, so-”

He takes a breath. “Kid, take a few steps back.”

“What?”

“If you don’t want me to kill you, you need to get off this fucking mat.”

The agent scrambles backwards, and Steve is still standing still. He’s breathing evenly -- a technique that he’s been working on lately with Bucky in tow -- and Bucky matches his breaths. It feels like hours, but Steve closes his eyes barely a minute later.

“I’m okay.”

Bucky raises an eyebrow. “Define okay, Steve, and we'll see if it holds up.”

Steve snorts, and Bucky’s impressed by how quickly his friend rolled from under the trigger memory. 

“Seriously, Bucky. It’s okay. They wouldn’t have let me get back on training duty if they thought I was going to kill someone.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that. You’ve seen the crap these people have pulled.”

Steve shrugs, but Bucky knows he’s right. It’s just that Bucky can’t help but run interference with Steve these days because Steve needs someone too. He won’t look after himself, not unless he’s forced. 

And Bucky’s not about to slack off on his job yet. 

There are still agents standing around the mat -- even the kid who caused this whole mess because Bucky is sure as hell not taking the blame -- and it brings him an idea. 

Fingers twitching at the hem of his shirt, Bucky pulls off his hoodie so that there is only a thin undershirt standing between him and his motley scarred skin. Steve’s cheeks flush.

“Bucky, what the-”

“Let’s show them how it’s done, huh? They’re never going to learn unless they see it done right,” Bucky smiles and rolls his shoulders. 

Steve looks away, and Bucky knows why. After the fight at the base where Steve had been ready to kill Bucky, they’ve not even breached the idea of sparring. The one time they had, Steve had gotten so mad that Sam had to make him go for a run, and Bucky had waited for hours until his friend came back to the apartment.

Now, standing across from Steve, Bucky hopes his friend doesn’t decide to blow up again because both of them really need to do this. 

“I don’t know if I trust myself to do this,” Steve admits a moment in a low voice that Bucky knows only he can hear. The rest of the agents are crowding around the mat, looking excited at the chance to watch a spar between Captain America and the Winter Soldier, but Bucky’s eyes are only on Steve. 

He slips into stance -- bending at his knees and curling his arms -- and looks at Steve.

“I trust you, Steve.”

There is a moment where Bucky thinks he’s not going to win this battle, but then Steve crouches low, and a thrill of adrenaline shoots through his veins at the sight. 

“Loser makes dinner tonight?”

Bucky laughs. “Yeah, sure. Now stop stalling.”

When they come back to the apartment that night, butterfly bandages scattered against their faces and compresses tied tight to their aching muscles, Bucky finds that he doesn’t mind after seeing the lightened weight on his friend’s shoulders when he goes to take shower. 

He does, however, mind having to make dinner because all the history texts had gotten it right when they wrote Bucky’s abysmal cooking record.  
_______

Steve is let back on active duty three months after his stint with Hydra -- too soon in Bucky’s opinion but he can see how antsy his friend is cooped up in their apartment -- and Bucky doesn’t even bother to ask to go with him.

He’s going to go either way. 

The parameters are simple: in-and-out extraction of two high-level chemists from an A.I.M. base in New Jersey. 

Bucky watches from afar through his scope, watching the way Steve’s uniform bends and twists as his friend throws his shield. It ricochets off several walls and takes down agents left and right. The hostages are accounted for soon enough, and once Steve has them outside, he takes them to their extraction point. They’ve only just reached the point when a handful of agents coming tearing from the building, guns raised and shooting at will. 

Steve lifts his shield and crouches in front of the chemists, blocking them from getting a slug between their eyes. The bullets ping off the metal, and Bucky wants to scream because he knows what Steve’s about to do. During a break in their firing, Steve thrusts his shield at the hostages for them to use and springs up at the agents who’ve come closer since revealing themselves. 

He dodges bullets -- and Bucky takes more than one of the agents with the muffled thud of his rifle -- and attacks the agents surrounding him with a viciousness that startles Bucky.

Steve doesn’t kill them, but it almost a near thing as he finishes, dropping the body of the last agent to the ground with a sharp knee to the gut. He’s sprayed with blood, and even Bucky has to admit that this image of Steve isn’t one that sits well in his stomach. 

Bucky worries for a moment that he’s been triggered, and he’s scuttling to his knees when Steve turns towards the roost Bucky had made for himself and smiles. There’s a two-finger salute sent his way before Steve’s heading back to the chemists and checking that they are alright. 

Their ride comes soon enough, and they both get on the jet just before he takes off. The ride is short from there to New York, but Bucky keeps his hand on Steve’s knee the whole time. 

Even Steve can't keep his trembling hands away from Bucky’s sharp eye. 

_______

They live, and things get easier. 

Bucky has finally stopped sleeping on the floor of Steve’s room, but only because Steve had had enough of nearly tripping over his friend’s sprawled limbs in the morning. 

So they sleep in the same bed, despite Bucky hogging the covers and Steve’s cold feet, it works. 

The nightmares still come at night -- for both of them because Hydra’s horrors don’t discriminate -- and they work through it each time with careful remarks and fingers wrapping around their wrists. 

It’s not perfect, but it works. 

Each day is a new worry, and Bucky sometimes wonders how his gap-ridden brain can keep up with them all. It’s never the same, but as each hours goes by, Bucky likes to think that they are both doing better as they pass. 

Neither of them are the same person they used to be. 

Bucky is sometimes thankful for that.

Sometimes, he hates himself for it.

It’s enough, though, for Steve to just be with him. 

Until it’s _not_.

_______

The two of them are on a mission in Vermont of all places when everything goes to hell. 

There weren’t supposed to be any Hydra affiliations tied to the arms dealer they were tracking.

They weren’t supposed to get cornered in a back room of an abandoned building over on 6th avenue after being smoked out by the agents covering the block.

And Brock _fucking_ Rumlow wasn’t supposed to have been there -- or within miles of Steve -- but he is and Bucky sees red.

He would move, but his right arm -- as his left is crushed and dented beyond all hope -- is twisted cruelly around his back. Steve is breathing heavily, blood mingling with the sweat, and Bucky pulls against the hands at his back. 

“Nothing personal, Rogers, but I think I’m happier to see you than you are to see me again.”

Steve spits blood from his mouth. 

“ _Go to hell_.”

Rumlow laughs and whips Steve against the temple with his gun. Steve stumbles, but braces his knees to keep him off the floor. 

Bucky is proud of that. 

“You know, you’ve got a mouth on you, Rogers. You weren’t so much the last time I saw you. Couldn’t hear much besides you screaming,” Rumlow taunts, and Bucky swears on his life that he will kill him and enjoy it. 

Steve just breathes, but then Rumlow is moving forward and hauling Steve up by his collar. He turns so that Bucky can no longer see Steve’s face, and he panics. 

“Steve! _Steve!_ ” 

Bucky grunts when one of the men behind him kicks him, but he doesn’t quit struggling against their hold. 

Because Steve is in danger. Steve is in fucking danger and Bucky’s right there on his knees and can’t do a thing about it. 

Steve’s face jerks as if it’s been hit, and Bucky snarls deep in his chest. Rumlow laughs and pushes Steve to his knees.

“Bet you think we got all that stuff out of you from before? The implant? The triggers? You think Hydra is that easy to get rid of? Cut off one head and two more shall-”

“Shut the fuck up.”

Rumlow glances at Bucky and takes a step forward. Steve’s hand shoots out to grip at his ankle, but he sidesteps it. Bucky is practically vibrating with the desire to rip Rumlow’s arms off, and as he kneels in front of him, Bucky clenches his jaw.

A hand comes up to Bucky’s jaw before his head is jerked sideways with a slap.

“You remember this, right? Being Pierce’s toy?”

Bucky stares, and Rumlow’s eye light with a sudden manic glee. “You’re mad? The asset is mad, huh? You care about this clown,” he grinds and gestures towards Steve’s crumpled figure, “Let me show you something. It’s a present from the party, see. Something we never bothered to leave with you.”

And then Rumlow is on his feet. Bucky is spitting, screaming at Steve to get the hell up, but his friend is barely moving to get up when Rumlow pushes him back down with a boot to his face. 

“Schmetterling.”

Steve stops struggling, and Rumlow takes a step back to lean against a broken table behind him. Bucky’s arm feels like it’s about to be ripped out of socket with how hard he is pulling, but then Steve straightens. 

“ _Steve!_ ”

There is no response, and with a breath, Bucky can see Steve behind those bright blue eyes that Bucky has always loved. 

But then Steve pulls out a knife from his thigh holster and levels it against his neck with enough pressure that a trail of blood seeps from underneath the steel. 

Bucky yells. 

“Stop! Steve, what the hell are you doing?”

Steve’s arm is steady against his neck, but his eyes look panicked. And with a sudden drop of clarity that makes Bucky gag, he realizes that the trigger isn’t a trigger. It’s a sleeper command -- which lets Steve retain himself but not his body -- and Bucky has seen it used before.

With just another word from Rumlow, Steve will slit the knife across his throat to the bone, and not even the serum could save him then. 

“...can’t stop himself, Bucky. Unless you’re going to beg for his life like the fucking dog you are,” Rumlow says, and the words flitter through his ears. 

Bucky stops, eyes locked with Steve’s glassy look, and hangs his head. 

“Please.”

Rumlow smiles. “Please what?”

“Please don’t do this,” Bucky grits out -- a million other words like _you can’t_ and _he’s all I have left_ trickle through his thoughts -- but he can’t let Rumlow know that. He’s already let too much go in front of him as is. 

It’s bad enough that Rumlow knows his weakness. 

It’s quiet, and Bucky watches breathes shallowly as Steve’s arm begins to quiver as if he’s fighting the command with everything he has. 

“I’m sorry. But I just can't pass up watching...”

Bucky jerks forward and finally breaks lose of the men behind him. He’s tripping onto his feet, one-armed and furious, towards Steve because that is his priority right now. 

“...your face when he dies.”

Steve’s arm moves, and Bucky feels the floor falling out from underneath him when Rumlow speaks. “Wes-”

Then the floor rocks under him, and Bucky tilts sideways. He lurches on his feet and tackles Steve out of the way of falling debris. The knife skitters across the floor with tinny scrapes, and with a careful look over his shoulder, Bucky sees that Rumlow and his crew have made it out of the room -- or better yet -- were crushed under some smoldering fallout. 

Steve is gasping underneath him, and Bucky worries that the command is still in effect. That if he lets Steve go, he will try to grab a knife from Bucky’s boot and carve his own heart out of his chest. 

“Steve?”

Bucky holds his breath as Steve’s eyes flicker open, and he is still there like he was before. Except then he moves his hands on his own accord and grips tightly at Bucky’s neck. Flinching, Bucky stills because this isn’t safe and it doesn’t feel right, but there is no pressure curling around Steve’s fingers. 

Instead, he pulls tightly and brings Bucky’s face into the crook of his neck, and Bucky finally feels the chest-heaving sobs escaping from Steve’s lips. They are breathless and struggling for air, but Steve is sobbing and clutching at Bucky.

“ _Oh god_. Bucky, _please_ , just...,” he trails.

Bucky holds him, blocking his body from any more debris that might threaten to crush them, and he can faintly hear the enraged roar of the Hulk from outside of the building. The team will be closing in soon, but for now, Bucky lets Steve hold onto him. 

He wishes that it were enough to fix his friend. 

_______

“You’re not allowed to go in yet.”

Bucky twists at the familiar words, and as expected, Tony is staring at him from down the hall with a split lip and bruises framing his cheek. 

“I know.”

It’s deja vu all over -- and, really, Bucky’s had enough of it -- but he can’t just leave because Steve is getting checked out in the other room by his doctors and Bucky won’t leave him. 

Not after what happened today. 

Tony walks down the hallway with a limp that Bucky knows Pepper is going to fuss over for a week, but when he sits down in a chair across from him, Tony smiles. 

Bucky frowns. “What are you so happy about?”

“Nothing. Today’s been the actual worst. I can hardly believe the shit you two get up to without back-up,” Tony answers lightly, but there is a hard look in his eyes that Bucky notes. 

They say nothing, and for a moment, Bucky wonders if Tony is about to give around rousing speech about comfort and care. 

It never comes. 

He sits in silence with Bucky until a doctor comes out and lets Bucky know that Steve is being allowed back home on a trial basis. The command hadn’t sprung up any triggers -- and until they could get a telepath in -- they wouldn’t know about any other sleepers. 

It was risky, they said, but Steve has improved when out of confinement. Being around Bucky is what had done that, and again, they hope it will work once more. 

Bucky collapses back into his chair -- tired, sore, hot, and _angry_ \-- and Tony stands. He ignores the mechanic until there is a hand on his shoulder that’s light to the touch. 

“You did good, Bucky,” Tony says after a moment without a hint of sarcasm in sight. Bucky just nods, and so Tony walks away and around a corner before Bucky can even think of a response. 

Really, he’s too tired to do much of anything. 

But as he waits for Steve to come out of the door, Bucky reminds himself there is just one more thing he has to do. 

It takes about ten minutes until the door reopens, and Steve comes through. He’s banged up good with gauze wrapped around his head -- which reminds Bucky _too much_ of how his friend had looked after surgery last time -- but the thin cut on his neck has already healed. 

Bucky could cry at that alone. 

But Steve looks exhausted. Just the power of keeping himself standing is too much, so Bucky takes a cautious step forward. Steve doesn’t even move, but a small smile tugs at his lips.

“Bucky,” he says, and that is all Bucky needs to hear. With careful arms -- because, _yes_ , Tony is a brat but a _genius_ one who can fix all sorts of shit -- that circle Steve’s waist, Bucky pulls him into a loose hug. 

There is a lot he wants to say, but that can wait for tomorrow when neither of them are concussed and both can stand without falling over. 

So he just enjoys the hug before pulling away. He keeps one of Steve’s arm draped over his own to prop him up because Steve is not getting to their apartment any other way. Bucky tilts his head up to look at Steve and feels the air knock out of his chest at the look Steve is giving him. 

He licks his lips. “You ready to go home?”

It takes a second, but then Steve shrugs his head. 

“Almost."

Standing there beside Steve, propping his friend up with with a drape arm across his waist, Bucky knows he would wait there with him forever if he had to. Bucky digs his fingers into the dip of Steve's hips and relishes the heat beneath his fingers. Steve's breath cracks within his chest, and the noise makes Bucky pull closer to his side.

With a huff, he shifts to let Steve lean against his shoulder, and Bucky doesn't flinch at the weight thrust upon him.

It's not the first time that the weight of his world has fallen on his shoulders. He also knows that this won't the be last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There it is! If you liked this, let me know! Constructive criticism and thoughts really help me get the next chapter out!
> 
> follow and fangirl with me on [tumblr](http://brooklynboystosupersoldiers.tumblr.com) because I love you all.


	3. centuries

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **I AM SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG!**
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> I have a long list of reasons: hospital visits, family emergencies, personal problems, moving to a new home, etc., but none of them excuse my terribly tardy behavior.
> 
> This is the end of this story, but I have some ideas to continue with this universe if anyone is still willing to read it!
> 
> I am a bit nervous about this update since I have been away from this project for so long, so let me know what you think if you get the chance!

Three months. 

Bucky has counted the days in locked doors, quiet footsteps, and the sheets fisted tightly into Steve's hands when he sleeps. 

Three months. 

Steve keeps quiet in their apartment. There is permanent dip in his shoulders from how he hunches into himself when he tucks his head tight to his chest. Bucky has only seen it once or twice — Steve has always been best at appearing better than he really was — but the image of his best friend shaking in the corner of his darkened bedroom still sears his memory. 

His lamp had been thrown against the wall, leaving ceramic and glass to litter the floor. Steve's feet bled sluggishly as his body worked to heal the cuts. Bucky had drawn close that night, making noise as he approached with his hands placed openly to his side. Fingers pulled at Steve's hair, tugging on the greasy strands with enough force that Bucky knew Steve was just shy of scalping himself. 

Three months. 

They didn't speak that night, but Bucky had sat with him even as the sun broke across the skyline windows. From the emerging light, he could see Steve's bruised eyes and clenched jaw. 

Bucky swallowed. "We'll get through this."

Steve's nose flared with a harsh breath and said nothing.

Three months. 

And then Steve is gone. 

_______

Bucky finds out like this:

There is a note on the kitchen counter, pinned to their long ignored cutting board with a paring knife. The script is simple with feather-light pencil strokes that float across the page, and Bucky feels a flash a deja vu. 

He knows what the letter will say before he takes it in his hand.

_I just can't stay here, Buck. At least, not right now. It's not your fault that…_

He crumples the letter in his fist, squeezing the blood from his hand as he tightens his grip. A strand of hair untucks from his ear and curtains his eyes as he takes a few steps backwards. With a measured look, he lets go of the letter and watches it fall into the bottom of the trashcan. 

Bucky spends the day sparring with Natasha and Clint — relishing the burn in his muscles that ache like penance — before grabbing dinner with Tony. 

In every moment in-between, he does his best to not think of Steve.

(He fails.)

_______

Bucky is cleared for active duty three weeks into Steve's disappearance, and he head-hunts Hydra with an iron fist and calculated brutality. Blood stains his kevlar to its stitches, and whenever he reports for his debriefings, Bucky can see the cautious look peeking out from Coulson's indifferent stare. 

Hell, even Clint is thrown by Bucky's turn, but still. He understands. 

Natasha must as well because she begins tagging onto their missions, sanctioned or not. The first time she got the drop on Bucky and Clint as they followed a paper trail across Nicaragua was the last — and even if she won't admit it — Bucky's pretty sure Natasha's not going to risk getting shot by him again. 

Winter Soldier or not, Bucky has a mission. He won't rest until it's finished. 

They travel the world, piloting quinjets and hot-wiring cars as they takedown defunct bases. Bucky's pulse races whenever they stumble upon a live sect, and the rigs he wires to blow those hellholes to kingdom come would make Dum-Dum and Dernier as proud as ever. 

(At least, he thinks they would be. From what he remembers, he had been the least destructive of the Howling Commandos during the war. That shocks him more than words can say.)

The next base is in Peru — secluded deep underground just within border — and Clint wrangled a quinjet from whatever SHIELD'S second-coming could give. Bucky sits in the back, not bothering to strap himself into his seat, and only lurches forward whenever Natasha tries to take steering privileges away from Clint. 

At the sixth squabble, Bucky growls. From the front of the jet, Clint yelps. Natasha laughs. 

Bucky pauses, hands slowing as they still from dismantling his gun, and lets out a long breath that has been stretching his lungs for far too long. 

_This_ , he thinks, _is a new routine for him._

Bucky wonders if Steve has found a new one for himself too. 

_______

"Fucking get out of there, Barnes! Shit, man, you got a death wish?"

Bucky rolls his eyes and drops to his knees, narrowly avoiding the hail of bullets that had been centered at his chest. He lays on the floor and swings his body to knock the feet from underneath the Hydra agents trying to kill him. They hit the floor as Bucky gets to his own feet — and before they can pull another weapon — Bucky takes out his own gun and pulls the trigger once…twice…three times. 

It's messy. It's brutal. It's war. And it's three steps closer to completing his mission. 

"…you listening to me? _Jesus_ , where are these guys coming from? Barnes, meet at rendezvous beta if you can hear me and aren't dead and all. Natasha and I will be there after we finish with these…. _Hey!_ Natasha, watch where you are throwing-"

The comm crackles to static, and Bucky raises a hand to rip the earpiece from his ear. When he looks down the hallway, the shadows of agents coming from either end stretch along the walls, and Bucky notes their grunting cries as they charge towards the asset they once believed they could contain. 

He pulls a knife from his jacket, tossing it in the air with a casual flick of his wrist, and catches it between his fingers. 

It's time to show them how wrong they were. 

_______

Clint and Natasha are smoking when Bucky comes up on them at the rendezvous point. The smoke curls from their lips and into the sweltering jungle air, and Bucky nods his head. 

"You two okay?"

Natasha shrugs, taking a drag from her cigarette, and Clint tries to smile before the cut against his cheek pulls it short. "You should see the other guys," he says. 

Bucky doesn't reply. He knows the other guys are nothing more than bodies caught up in the collapsing base by this point. Bucky had been sure to set just enough charges to leave no trace of Hydra in this forsaken backwoods. 

When a light flickers across Bucky's face, he jumps until he sees the phone that Natasha is holding out towards him. 

"You need to read this."

He brings the screen closer to his face — tracking each word with restless eyes — and snorts as the message from Sam comes to an end. 

_Steve called. Said to tell you he left you a surprise in Denver. Also said you'd know what he meant by that. You and your boys might want to get their fast. Cap sounded like he was in a hurry._

When Bucky looks up, Clint and Natasha are staring at him, waiting for orders in much the way that Bucky remembers once doing for Steve. He tosses the phone back at Natasha, and Clint smiles despite his battered face. 

"We heading out, Barnes," Clint asks as he lets his cigarette drop to the moist dirt under his feet. Bucky watches him stamp the glowing tip out with the heel of his boot and catches the color of blood against the leather underneath the moonlight. 

He takes a step towards the plane. "Yeah. Yeah, we are."

________

Natasha gives him the coordinates of a safehouse she holds in Denver, and suddenly, Sam's message makes a lot more sense.

It's just the surprise that Bucky can't suss out. None of them can for that matter. 

When they reach the house — a two-story suburban dream with watered flowerbeds and an honest-to-god white picket fence — Bucky feels a tingle shot straight through his spine and into his fingers. 

They itch to grab the knife tucked against his chest, but he waits. He wants to be sure his intuition is right. 

Natasha overrides the security with ease, and when the door opens, Clint lets out a low whistle. "Nice digs, Nat."

Bucky walks on ahead and misses Natasha spearing Clint with her elbow for his comment. He ignores his friend's grumbling as he walks along the walls and looks at the photos of a happy family that he's never seen before. 

He's willing to bet that Natasha hasn't either. 

There is a draft coming from the back of the room, and even Natasha sounds her approval when Bucky quickly locates the trapdoor that leads down to her hidden bunker of a basement. The step creaks as he walks downstairs — eyes narrowed and finger cocked against the trigger of his gun — and ignores the musty air as it trickles into his lungs. 

When they all reach the bottom and turn a corner into the bunker, the light that greets them strains against Bucky's eyes for a moment until all of the colors come together. It is the color red with its sickly copper tang and wet gloss that catches his eye until he sees where the blood is coming from. 

Rumlow is strapped to a chair, covered in raw burns and jagged cuts, and Bucky feels victory beat within his veins. 

"Well, this certainly is a surprise."

Clint looks at Natasha. "A surprise? Is this the kind of gift a guy needs to get you to be in your good graces?"

Natasha rolls her eyes, and Bucky can't blame her. Instead, he looks at his hands that are covered in stiff wool and slowly peels the gloves off. He ignores his flesh-and-blood hand and brings his left towards his face. The metal is scratched and dented at the plate folds, and even though he knows it's not there, Bucky still believes he can see the blood of those he's killed staining every groove in his arm. 

"Bucky."

At Natasha's voice, he turns towards her. She keeps her gaze leveled — just as he trained her to all those years ago, a whole lifetime ago — before tipping her head towards Rumlow. 

"You know why he left Rumlow here. It's okay."

The reassurance is enough. From both Steve and Natasha, Bucky lets out a breath and takes a step forward with the knowledge that they won't begrudge him of this. They won't judge him for his actions or his revenge — and he's glad. 

In many ways, this is for more than just him. It's for Steve and every other good guy Hydra ever got their hands on, even if it was Bucky's own hands that dealt the final blow. 

As he pulls the knife from his pocket, Bucky finds that he is glad Steve isn't here. That, maybe, he is getting better and doesn't feel the need to act out on whatever is still screwing with his head. He has to stop those thoughts though when Rumlow's eyes flicker open, and Bucky knows the exact moment Rumlow realizes who is standing over him. 

There is no time for Rumlow to react though when the edge of Bucky's knife slides cleanly through the tender skin across his throat. 

________

When they return from Denver, Bucky enters his apartment and smells the bacon sizzling on the stove before he hears it. He drops his bag to the floor by the front hallway and stumbles into the kitchen to find Steve propped against the counter, clad in one of Bucky's old sweatshirts and boxers. 

If it wasn't for his beard and easy eyes, Bucky might have thought that nothing had changed. That the past six months hadn't happened and that Steve was just as he had been before all this shit went down. 

He swallows at the words lodged in his throat. "Steve?"

From across the room, Steve tilts his head. "Told you I'd come back."

Bucky bites his bottom lip, rolling the tender skin between his teeth before lurching forward. He grabs Steve's neck and pulls his friend's head to his chest before wrapping his arms around Steve's tapered waist. The bulk of Steve's muscle feels familiar under his searching fingers, and from under his surprise, Bucky can hear the soft sigh that Steve breathes into the crook of Bucky's neck. 

"I'm home."

Bucky nods. "No shit."

________

Another routine crawls into their lives as they learn to live again. 

The nightmares come and go. Faraway looks turn into panic attacks and frantic brawls that leave the two breathless and apologetic for more than they can say. Steve still travels carefully through the Tower, testing his own boundaries as he makes his way to the common areas and labs and gym to see the rest of the team. 

(Tony, as Bucky expected, becomes so obnoxiously hennish over Steve that the older man is all but barred from their room. All he wants to do is good, but delivering star-spangled condoms and life-sized Bucky Bears to their apartment isn't the best way to go about doing so.)

Steve still hasn't shaved — something that Bucky still can't wrap his head around because Steve had never been a fan of the peach fuzz that had once grown close to his chin before the serum— and fights to move on. 

It's after his first morning run with Sam that Steve returns with a dozen sprinkled donuts in one hand and a large iced coffee in the other. Bucky looks at him for a moment, noting the confused smile on his friend's face, and then he notices the writing on the side of Steve's cup. 

Bucky laughs. "She gave you her number?"

Steve shakes his head and flicks his sweat-soaked hair from his face. "She didn't. He did though," he explains before turning his cup. When Bucky sees that some barista named Josh left his number on the side of the cup, he throws his head back and laughs. 

He laughs alone, but when he looks at his friend later, there is a wide grin set upon his lips. 

It's more than enough for Bucky. More than he ever thought he might see again. 

________

They have a conversation one night when neither of them can sleep and infomercials are all that they can find on TV. The light of the screen barely covers the room, but it is enough to keep Bucky off edge as he tilts his head towards Steve. 

"You know, you're a good man."

Steve snorts, and Bucky swats at his arm. 

"No, I'm serious."

With his hair pushed back, Steve gives Bucky a look that seems small. "If you tell me that enough, one day, I might believe you."

Bucky sighs, remembering all the arguments he lost with Steve all those years ago in their Brooklyn flat. This fight, though, isn't one he's willing to let lie for long. 

"Alright. I'll do just that. It's a damn shame you can't see what we all do, Steve. That you can't see how you're really the best of us all here."

The infomercial cuts to another scene, and from the corner of Bucky's eye, he can see a woman chopping pineapple with a kitchen knife the size of her forearm. He almost laughs at the absurdity that is his life. 

Steve clears his throat, and Bucky turns to look at his friend. 

"You too," Steve says after a moment, and Bucky's brow furrows. 

"What?"

Steve looks at him, and for a moment, Bucky wonders if Steve is staring down to the very heart of him. 

"What you just said about me? I could say the same for you too."

________

The next time Bucky's phone rings during a covert op — still tracking down that asshole they were searching for before — he breaks protocol and checks to see who it is the first time around. When he sees Steve's name lit up on the screen, his heart thuds thickly against his ribs before he presses his phone to his ear. 

Bucky's voice creaks. "Hello?"

No one responds, and Bucky strains to hear beyond the rustling of fabric and chatter coming from the other end. 

He tries again. "Steve? Are you okay?"

A second later, a gruff voice comes through the speaker that makes Bucky's mouth drop wide open. The soothing music of their jazz standards echo through the other end, and with a sudden moment of clarity, Bucky realizes that Steve hadn't meant to call him. 

His finger hovers over the disconnect button, but the sound of Steve singing along to their old favorites makes him stop. 

It's then that a resounding crash comes from the other end which causes Bucky to stiffen.

"Damn it," Steve shouts, and Bucky has to breathe deep to keep from laughing. He knows that Steve must have just broken yet another set of dishes, but he can laugh about that later. Maybe when he's not meant to be cooped up in a sniper's roost on a mission. 

But then Steve starts laughing — full-bodied and gut-swelling that sounds so familiar to Bucky's ear that it makes his chest expand — and Bucky finds that he can't pull himself away. 

(He's too close, in too deep. He always has been. Really, what else could have happened? With a guy like Steve? Bucky never stood a chance.)

"… _Barnes!_ Target will be exiting the stairwell in the next twelve seconds, so you better have your shot lined up. I will shove an arrow up you ass otherwise! We ain't tracking this guy anywhere else, you hear?"

At Clint's voice, Bucky finally ends the call and settles back behind the scope of his rifle. When the door opens at the side of a building to reveal his target, a smile pulls at Bucky's lip as he lets the bullet loose from the barrel. 

There is a sharp whistle through the wind, and Bucky rolls over onto the hot gravel of the roof, breaking into laughter with a hand thrown over his eyes. 

Bullseye.

**Author's Note:**

> follow and fangirl with me on [tumblr](http://brooklynboystosupersoldiers.tumblr.com) because I love you all.
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own any characters, settings, plot lines, concepts, or terminology as created, used, and owned by Marvel Entertainment, LLC ®. This is a work of fanfiction.


End file.
